


regarding a gay moose

by faedemon, librarby, OfCometsAndGhosts



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, M/M, Podfic Available, and to billy for spectating, collaborative writing, go forth into the world our hideous progeny, shoutout also to alex francis ryan and AJ for participating with me!!!!, shoutout to alex for giving me the idea to actually make us do this <3, this was written by five (5) people!!! all part of a tma discord :), well we did that but we all wrote one sentence and tried to make a statement, you know that game where everyone says one word and tries to make a sentence?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25251787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faedemon/pseuds/faedemon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarby/pseuds/librarby, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfCometsAndGhosts/pseuds/OfCometsAndGhosts
Summary: A collaborative statement about a Slaughter-aligned gay moose wearing timbs, a statement giver determined to murder his idiot son, and featuring at least one (1) major plothole regarding the Hunt.ft. the original draft in all its messy glory, the same thing color-coded so you can see who wrote what, the images that were included in the google doc for inspiration, and a podfic! <3
Relationships: dez & his idiot son(s), dezmond "dez" hatfield wades/his polycule of 30 clone husbands, no relation to the dezmond from austin & ally, slaughter moose & dezmond
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	1. Non-Color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was co-written by me, librarby, OfCometsAndGhosts, as well as Tumblr users martinkartinbartin and 170recollection!
> 
> The order of writing was:  
> 1\. librarby  
> 2\. 170recollection  
> 3\. faedemon  
> 4\. martinofcolor  
> 5\. OfCometsAndGhosts

[tape recorder click]

THE ARCHIVIST

Statement of Dezmond "Dez" Hatfield Wade regarding a moose. Statement originally collaboratively written July 11th, 2020.

Statement begins.

STATEMENT

The thing about moose is, you don’t know how large they are until one’s staring you in the eye. There’s nothing quite like it to remind you how fragile your bones are- though, worse yet is knowing such a creature can be motivated by one of the rawest human emotions: gay love.

I saw the moose when I was taking one of the back roads, out in the wilderness—you know the kind, where trees tower on all sides and the whole world feels claustrophobic. The moose spoke to me, but not in a human way. In one moment of scaling the universe down to the size of a moose in the trees I understood everything it wanted me to. I couldn’t tell you if the fear I felt was my own or the moose’s. My eyes couldn’t break away from its eyes reflecting in the dark, but if they could, I would’ve noticed its sweet timbs. 

I managed to brake just soon enough that I didn’t hit it, though it was a close thing. The Moose watched me as I carefully stepped out of the car, maintaining perfect eye contact. Despite the feeling of regret overwhelming my mind I felt so compelled to approach this moose, nothing else mattered in that moment. It’s eyes stayed locked on me, unmoving. Have you ever been gripped by fear, but drawn towards the thing you fear regardless? It felt like that—an unnatural, instinctual fear, and yet a gravity. I felt as though, if I could run he would follow, but my feet stayed in place even as he approached. Logically I knew in that moment my head may as well have been on the guillotine and I was just letting my imminent death happen. 

I considered moving to get the bat I knew was in my trunk (my loser son plays baseball, you see), but I had a feeling the moose could move faster than I ever could. After a moment, I felt a shiver go up my spine, and I realized I had received my orders from the moose; I went to retrieve the baseball bat. 

_Your son,_ I felt the Moose tell me, its decree sinking into my bones, directing my movements, _turn his bat against him._

I nodded once, and got into my car, recognizing that this was fate. Hand on the baseball bat I realized the inclination of oncoming death was not my own, but wrought by my own hands. I took one last look at the Moose before climbing into my truck, driving away as his timbs glinted in the rearview mirror. 

The drive home was a blur; I pulled up to my idiot son’s home (the son I didn’t like), which was also my home. My husband greeted me as I came in, but raised an eyebrow at the baseball bat propped over my shoulder. He recognized the look in my eyes, I think; this was not the first time we’d met the Moose. Jurgen 2.0 was sitting in his dumb little room, his stupid face obscured by a large book, broken glasses sliding off his nose. I knew How lame my son was, the Moose didn't need to tell me that, he just needed to give me the guts to do something about it. 

Jurgen 2.0 looked up, squinting his stupid eyes at me in confusion. “Hey, idiot,” I said. “Come outside. Let’s play baseball.” I saw his terror. He knew what was coming—we had not always had only one son, after all. He tried to run but his head was too big and he tripped from the gravity weighing him down. I knew this was my moment and I gripped the bat harder, but at the last second he caught my ankle and I fell down with him. 

He screamed something unintelligible at me, yanking hard on my leg a second time. I shrieked in anger, but my attention was suddenly drawn to the woodline behind our home. The moose’s eyes glowed on our direction, and I could see the glint of human teeth as it slowly opened its maw. Once again it spoke, and bloodlust filled me: Faster.

As I brought my bat up into a swing, my idiot son drove his head into my knee knocking me over; my bat falling to the ground. I scrambled to retrieve the bat, never had I been more ready to smash his idiot pumpkin head in. From the hallway, I could hear my gaggle of husbands running up the stairs to my aid, also having seen the moose. All of the chaos was suddenly disrupted by a single gunshot. My ears rang, and I felt a sinking dread in my gut.

I looked to the Moose. Even as I watched, a hole opened up in its side, just a small thing—yet so much blood seemed to pour from it—but the Moose seemed unaffected, even annoyed. Power radiated around the area, but coming from no specific space, a great aura of malice. The Hunt was here. 

We were too slow, the Moose was ready, its eyes reflected red and it charged. 

I had never seen such carnage. My husbands (who are clones) began swinging their fists too quickly for me to follow with my eyes, although it didn’t seem like they had a particular target; they simply seemed to be enjoying the violence. The Moose, invigorated by their fighting spirit, charged toward where the Hunt aura was radiating from. Meanwhile, I turned back to my stupid idiot motherfucking Jurgen son. Jurgen swung a fist at me but it comically flew past my face by a good foot and he fell on his face again, I took the opportunity to swing the bat at his head with a deafening crack. Then silence. Finally, my 30 year old little league playing stupid idiot motherfucking Jurgen 2.0 son was dead. 

My husbands began to cheer, relieved by the final death of our stupid son. I could hardly share in my husbands’ enthusiasm, though; my hands were shaking, and I found it hard to steady my pounding heart. I looked up at my favorite husband, but he was too busy celebrating with the others. I felt utterly alone. It was just me and the moose and the baseball bat in my trembling hands. 

The Moose—the Slaughter—had commanded me for so long. I had kept going back to that forested back road, looking for it, looking for that thrum in my veins that came with the anger. The bloodlust had felt good. My husbands loved it, I loved it, the Moose loved it, and yet…

With the last stupid, stupid son gone, it all fell away. My hands began to shake. And then something else began to change within me.

I turned towards the Slaughter. Its eyes gradually faded to a dull glassy dark brown of a natural moose, its timbs transforming into hooves. I felt my feet grow. My eyes turned ablaze. Then there was red. All red. I woke up surrounded by thousands of husband corpses. The time has come. They're all dead. I am The Moose. I am the Slaughter.

It’s not all bad, being this way. Of course, I miss my husbands, but they were sacrificed for a noble cause. I have the memories of all the moose before me; I can hear all of them in my head, urging me on to find another. 

[CLICK]

POST-STATEMENT

[CLICK]

Statement ends.

……… Much to consider with this statement. 

There is little I can do to follow up on this statement, as the written record of it was left in my home mailbox during the night, and the name used is clearly a pseudonym, as a Google search for it only brings up an American children’s sitcom called ‘Austin & Ally.’ The statement giver didn’t give any details about a landmark apart from it being forested, which could place this statement anywhere on about 75% of inhabited land. I would narrow it down to where moose are naturally found, but when concerning the Entities, nothing is certain. Also, if this account is to be believed, he… is now a moose himself.

What I can’t understand is why his rage was directed solely at his son—and, apparently, his other children. In all of the Slaughter statements we have received thus far, the violence has been indiscriminate. It is my working theory—

[DOOR OPENS]

MARTIN

Ah—I hope I’m not interrupting?

ARCHIVIST

Just a bit.

MARTIN

Sorry, sorry—oh! Are you reading the gay moose statement?

ARCHIVIST

The what?>

MARTIN

The gay moose statement! We all got a copy last night.

ARCHIVIST

Why would you say it’s gay?

MARTIN

Well, isn’t it obvious? The Moose was compelling Dezmond to get back at his straightie sons for having the gall to be heterosexual.

ARCHIVIST

Martin, that’s ridiculous.

MARTIN

Jon, are you homophobic?

ARCHIVIST

(beat) Perhaps.

[A PAUSE, THEN THE RUSTLING OF FABRIC.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to the trans tma discord for inspiring this. though only 5 of us wrote you were all with us in spirit. may the gay moose live on


	2. With Color!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The color-coded version of the statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writers:
> 
> 1\. librarby (purple)  
> 2\. 170recollection ( ~~blood~~ red)  
> 3\. faedemon (green)  
> 4\. martinofcolor (blue)  
> 5\. OfCometsAndGhosts ("eyebleeding magenta baby")

[tape recorder click]

THE ARCHIVIST

Statement of Dezmond "Dez" Hatfield Wade regarding a moose. Statement originally collaboratively written July 11th, 2020.

Statement begins.

STATEMENT

The thing about moose is, you don’t know how large they are until one’s staring you in the eye. There’s nothing quite like it to remind you how fragile your bones are- though, worse yet is knowing such a creature can be motivated by one of the rawest human emotions: gay love.

I saw the moose when I was taking one of the back roads, out in the wilderness—you know the kind, where trees tower on all sides and the whole world feels claustrophobic. The moose spoke to me, but not in a human way. In one moment of scaling the universe down to the size of a moose in the trees I understood everything it wanted me to. I couldn’t tell you if the fear I felt was my own or the moose’s. My eyes couldn’t break away from its eyes reflecting in the dark, but if they could, I would’ve noticed its sweet timbs.

I managed to brake just soon enough that I didn’t hit it, though it was a close thing. The Moose watched me as I carefully stepped out of the car, maintaining perfect eye contact. Despite the feeling of regret overwhelming my mind I felt so compelled to approach this moose, nothing else mattered in that moment. Its eyes stayed locked on me, unmoving. Have you ever been gripped by fear, but drawn towards the thing you fear regardless? It felt like that—an unnatural, instinctual fear, and yet a gravity. I felt as though, if I could run he would follow, but my feet stayed in place even as he approached. Logically I knew in that moment my head may as well have been on the guillotine and I was just letting my imminent death happen.

I considered moving to get the bat I knew was in my trunk (my loser son plays baseball, you see), but I had a feeling the moose could move faster than I ever could. After a moment, I felt a shiver go up my spine, and I realized I had received my orders from the moose; I went to retrieve the baseball bat.

_Your son,_ I felt the Moose tell me, its decree sinking into my bones, directing my movements, _turn his bat against him._

I nodded once, and got into my car, recognizing that this was fate. Hand on the baseball bat I realized the inclination of oncoming death was not my own, but wrought by my own hands. I took one last look at the Moose before climbing into my truck, driving away as his timbs glinted in the rearview mirror.

The drive home was a blur; I pulled up to my idiot son’s home (the son I didn’t like), which was also my home. My husband greeted me as I came in, but raised an eyebrow at the baseball bat propped over my shoulder. He recognized the look in my eyes, I think; this was not the first time we’d met the Moose. Jurgen 2.0 was sitting in his dumb little room, his stupid face obscured by a large book, broken glasses sliding off his nose. I knew How lame my son was, the Moose didn't need to tell me that, he just needed to give me the guts to do something about it.

Jurgen 2.0 looked up, squinting his stupid eyes at me in confusion. “Hey, idiot,” I said. “Come outside. Let’s play baseball.” I saw his terror. He knew what was coming—we had not always had only one son, after all. He tried to run but his head was too big and he tripped from the gravity weighing him down. I knew this was my moment and I gripped the bat harder, but at the last second he caught my ankle and I fell down with him.

He screamed something unintelligible at me, yanking hard on my leg a second time. I shrieked in anger, but my attention was suddenly drawn to the woodline behind our home. The moose’s eyes glowed on our direction, and I could see the glint of human teeth as it slowly opened its maw. Once again it spoke, and bloodlust filled me: _Faster._

As I brought my bat up into a swing, my idiot son drove his head into my knee knocking me over; my bat falling to the ground. I scrambled to retrieve the bat, never had I been more ready to smash his idiot pumpkin head in. From the hallway, I could hear my gaggle of husbands running up the stairs to my aid, also having seen the moose. All of the chaos was suddenly disrupted by a single gunshot. My ears rang, and I felt a sinking dread in my gut.

I looked to the Moose. Even as I watched, a hole opened up in its side, just a small thing—yet so much blood seemed to pour from it—but the Moose seemed unaffected, even annoyed. Power radiated around the area, but coming from no specific space, a great aura of malice. The Hunt was here.

We were too slow, the Moose was ready, its eyes reflected red and it charged.

I had never seen such carnage. My husbands (who are clones) began swinging their fists too quickly for me to follow with my eyes, although it didn’t seem like they had a particular target; they simply seemed to be enjoying the violence. The Moose, invigorated by their fighting spirit, charged toward where the Hunt aura was radiating from. Meanwhile, I turned back to my stupid idiot motherfucking Jurgen son. Jurgen swung a fist at me but it comically flew past my face by a good foot and he fell on his face again, I took the opportunity to swing the bat at his head with a deafening crack. Then silence. Finally, my 30 year old little league playing stupid idiot motherfucking Jurgen 2.0 son was dead.

My husbands began to cheer, relieved by the final death of our stupid son. I could hardly share in my husbands’ enthusiasm, though; my hands were shaking, and I found it hard to steady my pounding heart. I looked up at my favorite husband, but he was too busy celebrating with the others. I felt utterly alone. It was just me and the moose and the baseball bat in my trembling hands.

The Moose—the Slaughter—had commanded me for so long. I had kept going back to that forested back road, looking for it, looking for that thrum in my veins that came with the anger. The bloodlust had felt good. My husbands loved it, I loved it, the Moose loved it, and yet…

With the last stupid, stupid son gone, it all fell away. My hands began to shake. And then something else began to change within me.

I turned towards the Slaughter. Its eyes gradually faded to a dull glassy dark brown of a natural moose, its timbs transforming into hooves. I felt my feet grow. My eyes turned ablaze. Then there was red. All red. I woke up surrounded by thousands of husband corpses. The time has come. They're all dead. I am The Moose. I am the Slaughter.

It’s not all bad, being this way. Of course, I miss my husbands, but they were sacrificed for a noble cause. I have the memories of all the moose before me; I can hear all of them in my head, urging me on to find another.

[CLICK]

POST-STATEMENT

[CLICK]

Statement ends.

……… Much to consider with this statement.

There is little I can do to follow up on this statement, as the written record of it was left in my home mailbox during the night, and the name used is clearly a pseudonym, as a Google search for it only brings up an American children’s sitcom called ‘Austin & Ally.’ The statement giver didn’t give any details about a landmark apart from it being forested, which could place this statement anywhere on about 75% of inhabited land. I would narrow it down to where moose are naturally found, but when concerning the Entities, nothing is certain. Also, if this account is to be believed, he… is now a moose himself.

What I can’t understand is why his rage was directed solely at his son—and, apparently, his other children. In all of the Slaughter statements we have received thus far, the violence has been indiscriminate. It is my working theory—

[DOOR OPENS]

MARTIN

Ah—I hope I’m not interrupting?

ARCHIVIST

Just a bit.

MARTIN

Sorry, sorry—oh! Are you reading the gay moose statement?

ARCHIVIST

The _what?_

MARTIN

The gay moose statement! We all got a copy last night.

ARCHIVIST

Why would you say it’s gay?

MARTIN

Well, isn’t it obvious? The Moose was compelling Dezmond to get back at his straightie sons for having the gall to be heterosexual.

ARCHIVIST

Martin, that’s ridiculous.

MARTIN

Jon, are you homophobic?

ARCHIVIST

(beat) Perhaps.

[A PAUSE, THEN THE RUSTLING OF FABRIC.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so fucking sorry that i used the homestuck work skin but frankly that was the easiest way to make the colors go


	3. images <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here are the blessed images that watched over us as we worked. the second one was repeatedly photoshopped by librarby as the fic went on

The above image popped up when one of us—I believe martinkartinbartin—googled something about moose. It sits up at the top of the google doc!

THIS image was photoshopped repeatedly by librarby as the fic became more convoluted, and watched over us all like a benevolent deity.


	4. PODFIC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlie faedemon impulsively records a podfic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the voice of the podfic is faedemon (he/they pronouns)

This is literally just the statement turned into a podfic.

[Here You Go](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1FA0rOlqeq-I4xSFh-XLfWRkINkAdCpB8/view?usp=sharing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi if you listened you're cool and sexy


End file.
